


09-29-045

by razboinicul_iernii



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Brain Damage, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Confusion, Depressed Steve Rogers, Gen, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Memory Loss, POV Steve Rogers, Prompt Fic, Protective Steve Rogers, but he is a fighter in all things, like a lot of it, the devotion this man has could power the planet, wipe him and start over taken very very literally
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-08 08:24:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7750444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/razboinicul_iernii/pseuds/razboinicul_iernii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The machine was meant to erase certain memories. And the people who'd last used it on Bucky went overboard, so it erased more than it should. It didn't stop at memories of who Bucky had been before HYDRA tried to change him. Like a tidal wave clearing out the coast, the electric current took everything with it and now Bucky was left with nothing. Less than nothing.</p><p>Steve sat back with a heavy thud and stared at Bucky as the realization struck him. He couldn't get through to his friend because his friend wasn't there to get to anymore. Nobody was.</p><p>(An AU based on a prompt where Bucky's last visit to the chair is performed by unqualified individuals who accidentally leave HYDRA's greatest weapon irrevocably damaged. Or maybe not.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> At first I came up with this unnecessarily complicated AU to make this scenario possible. Then I found a writing prompt that simplified it so I switched to using that. I can't find the prompt, but it was something along the lines of Bucky going back to HYDRA after leaving Steve on the river bank. Only because of the Insight fiasco, the people he finds aren't sure what they're doing, they put Bucky in the chair and screw it up. If someone knows the prompt/prompter, let me know! God knows how weird my google search history looks right now since I've tried to find it again :P
> 
> Title is taken from the Green Carnation song of the same name.

Steve argued and fought with medical staff to let him out of the hospital. Maybe they saw the bullet wounds and the shattered cheekbone as serious injuries, but he just saw(and felt) inconveniences. Things that would be dealt with on their own given another few days since the bullets were taken out and the laceration on his face stitched up. The doctors and nurses didn't agree with him, though. As the time ticked away and he gained back strength, all he could think of was Bucky and how he must be getting further and further away. Sam tried to reassure him that Bucky couldn't have gone far. That if he was as hurt as Steve said, he'd probably go somewhere nearby to recover, the same way Steve needed to.

It was on Steve's fourth day in the hospital that Natasha came to him wearing a troubled expression. He knew he'd never been the best at reading her, mostly because she was too aware of herself to allow anyone to get good at that. But she definitely radiated tension now. When she spoke it was in a soft tone of voice, a careful one. "They found him, Steve." And if that's what she had to say, with so much caution-

"Please don't tell me he's-" He couldn't say it. Couldn't face the idea of having found his friend, such an improbable, nearly impossible feat, only to have him ripped away again. He couldn't suffer Bucky's death twice, both times because he hadn't done enough to save him.

She shook her head. "It's not like that."

"Then what?" He didn't know what could be worse than death but the look on her face, her loss for words, _Natasha,_ without words-  
  
The possibilities horrified him. And how? How could it be so bad? Bucky was already missing his memories, turned into some HYDRA drone. What more could they have done?

Steve said to hell with the staff that tried to insist he get a few more days of bed rest. Said to hell with the armed SHIELD guards that exchanged nervous glances when he pushed through them at the door. Sam tried to tell Steve to calm down, to not expect Bucky to remember, that he didn't want him to get his hopes too high. Steve may have heard it all, but he never really processed it. Natasha said nothing, gave him nothing, just led him to Bucky like she agreed to do.

What was left of SHIELD was in disarray but the place Natasha led them to, near the wreckage of the Triskelion, was bustling with activity. Hill met them first at the taped off perimeter and Steve had half a mind to wonder how she knew they were coming at this exact moment but decided it wasn't worth asking. SHIELD did a lot of things he didn't understand the 'how' of. Like _how does an_ intelligence _organization miss the ravenous parasite growing inside of it?_

"Where is he?" Steve asked without preamble. He didn't care about words of reassurance, didn't care about warnings or suggestions or anything but seeing Bucky. How could he let SHIELD get him? How could he get him out? Maybe they weren't the worst group for Bucky to end up with, given the alternative, but as far as Steve was concerned, SHIELD had had their chance. 

"It might not be the best idea-"

"I'll tear the place apart by hand, if that's how you'd prefer this to go down. You don't really look in the state to handle that, so it wouldn't even be a challenge."

Hill didn't look intimidated but she never did. Instead her eyes flicked from Steve to Sam and Natasha and he wasn't sure what she read in their faces because he couldn't bring himself to look at them. If it was pity he thought he might break. "Follow me," she said, leading the way inside. He glanced back at Sam and Natasha. She nodded, but the pair stayed put and Steve went after Hill alone. "HYDRA kept him in a sub-basement under a bank on Wisconsin Avenue," she began but Steve cut her off.

"The Wisconsin Avenue right across the river from your _headquarters?_ "

She nodded, features tight, all focus seeming to be directed to the elevator and her access codes. Steve scoffed in disbelief but she continued without defending SHIELD's mistakes. He managed to give her some credit for that. "We're still combing through the files recovered from the area. As you can imagine our workforce is spread a little thin at the moment and we haven't had the time-"

"He's had seventy years, so maybe you should find the time," Steve all but snapped at her. Didn't have the time. These people were oblivious and he was more pissed than he'd ever been in his life, to know Bucky had been there all the time and no one even knew it. That _HYDRA_ had been there all the time and no one had a clue. Who had he been taking orders from this past year? And how had  _he_ been just as blind as the rest of them?

Hill continued without missing a beat at his outburst, even if Steve had seen grown men nearly as large as himself flinch at the sound of his voice if he was angry enough. "To put it short, our team found him undergoing some kind of electroconvulsive therapy. Initial assessments indicate it's some kind of conditioning tool, something that destroys neural pathways in order to disrupt a targeted function. In this instance, various memory and emotional centers. We've sent whatever information we could to Tony Stark and he's agreed to figure out what he can about the device."

"So they erased his memories?" He already knew that. They didn't succeed. Bucky remembered him, he knew he did. Maybe not at first, but Steve was certain he'd begun to remember. If he had to help Bucky do so again, he would.

The elevator stopped and Hill led him down a narrow corridor. "That appears to be the intent, yes. An easy way to make him more compliant. However, the individuals we apprehended on site admitted that they weren't qualified to use the device." She paused as if searching for the right thing to say next and Steve thought he might explode. "They made mistakes."

"Mistakes?" His voice sounded sharper, angrier than he wanted but he thought he had a right to be mad. The people he'd been working for turned out to be the same people he'd given literally everything he had to stop. His best friend was kidnapped and electrocuted into being their assassin. And now this, whatever it meant. 

Hill took a breath through her nose and stopped to look Steve in the eye as they apparently reached their destination. "I'm sorry, Steve. I really am." She keyed something into the panel beside a heavy steel door and moved further into a room. There was a small bank of computers. They were displaying some feed of a cell from multiple angles. Only two other people were in the room, Fury and the alleged 'nurse' who lived next door to him, but he hardly spared them a glance. He was much more interested in the person on the other side of the clear panes.

He moved in for a closer look immediately, ignoring everyone else. The place didn't even have a _bed_ and Jesus his eyes, why were his eyes so glazed and-and-"What's wrong with him?" he asked to whoever was listening, even if he was pretty sure they were all talking to each other.

No one answered at first. They knew. They just wouldn't say. And maybe a part of him knew too but wouldn't admit it. He kept his eyes on Bucky, who was sitting in one corner, legs out in front of him and hands in his lap and he looked like a doll that some kid had propped against the wall to give it the pretense of life. Bucky stared with dull, half-lidded eyes, and breathed and his eyes didn't even move, didn't seem focused on anything.

"Whatever setting that machine was used on was too much," Fury finally said, apparently the only one with the guts to tell him. "He's alive, if you want to call it that, but..." There was a pause, as if to allow Steve to process the information but that simply wasn't happening. Steve heard _he's alive_ and that's all he _needed_ to hear. Bucky was like him. Bucky had to be, to survive his fall, and that arm, and to give as good as he got on the helicarrier and still walk off at the end. He could recover. He could get better, he knew it. "I'm sorry, Steve."

 _Sorry_ , he was so sick of sorry. "Pierce was your _friend._ And you didn't even know-"

"We made mistakes." The bitterness was hard to miss. Steve knew he wasn't the only one who'd been deceived but sympathy was hardly at the forefront of his mind as he looked at the dead shell of his best friend, dressed like a criminal in an orange jumpsuit. Like he was going to make a break for it.

"Let me see him."

Hill glanced up, clearly uncertain. But Steve thought he saw Fury nod in his peripheral and the nurse from next door, the spy, whatever she was, waved Steve towards her. He followed without a second thought, passed through a short, dim corridor, and came out in the brightly lit cell. No one else came with him and it didn't surprise him. They'd already written Bucky off as good as dead, but Steve refused. He'd fallen from that train into the unforgiving cold and wilderness, suffered under HYDRA, made it so far, he wasn't dying here.

Steve crouched beside Bucky, trying to move into his line of sight. But Bucky's eyes never readjusted, never focused on him, or anything really. He put a hand on his friends cheek, thinking maybe it would help draw him back. But there was zero reaction and he felt his chest go tight. "How long has he been here?" Steve asked, never taking his eyes off of Bucky just in case. Maybe he'd miss something. He knew Bucky would get better, that's all.

"Three days," the woman said. 

"He's been this way the whole time?"

"Yes. He was-Well, it was worse at first. Hemorrhaging in the brain from the-" She stopped herself, as if deciding Steve should be spared such horrible details and maybe he should. "Just, he was worse. He seems to be enhanced by a serum like yours, only not as potent. So what would've killed a regular person just left him like this, once he...recovered."

"How do you know he's done recovering?"

Her clothes rustled as she shifted her weight. When she responded, her voice was softer, mindful of how difficult this all was for Steve. But at least she wouldn't keep him in the dark. Not on this, at least. "It's been three days and no change."

"So wait longer. I will. Here, if need be, even though I find it bordering on disgusting that you'd take a prisoner from one cell and put him in another, if you're supposed to be the good guys."

"After what he did, we couldn't risk-"

"What they _made_ him do," Steve corrected. He knew from SHIELD's perspective this precaution was reasonable but for now he didn't care. He glanced around the small cell and maybe a part of him understood that the facilities were a bit worse for wear right now. That they had to work with what they had. But he hated it all the same. "I'll stay with him. So somebody should find some beds, I think. Blankets, pillows, clothes, is there a shower nearby?"

She was quiet for a moment, as if considering what he was saying. Maybe even thinking of arguing with him. In the end she said, "I'll see what I can do. For both of you." She was the only one who didn't try to get him to go home and rest. The only one who wasn't trying to fill his head with worst-case scenarios and _options_. She just listened to him, and got him what he asked for whenever possible. All the while Bucky just sat there like Raggedy Andy, but Steve wasn't giving up. He refused to give up. Because Bucky hadn't ever given up on him when things got bad, never. Bucky had been at his side through all manner of flus and fevers and never even questioned it. He just sat by, dutifully, loyally, and now Steve wouldn't think twice about returning the favor.

Nothing changed for days. Bucky lost weight even as they worked out how best to feed him. It wasn't enough to keep up with his metabolism but it was something to keep him alive. Fury moved on, a ghost so far as the rest of the world was concerned. Hill took a job with Stark. Steve couldn't help but feel a tinge of bitterness at the pair, even if part of him knew they'd both been dedicated and hard-working. Fury had given SHIELD nearly everything, he knew. If it weren't for him, after all, no one may have ever learned about the real Project Insight. And Hill worked just as hard to get where she was. If she hadn't helped them, Steve and Sam would be in some HYDRA prison, Natasha possibly dead from the blood loss that no one had seemed too keen on treating. So in the end it could've been that he wasn't just upset with them. Because he'd been here too, hadn't he? He hadn't known or suspected a thing.

Sam and Natasha came by frequently, even if Natasha had been put through a bit of a wringer herself while being sought after as the only apparent survivor from the World Security Council's final meeting. Sam had tried to talk to him once about Bucky, about what was best for both of them. About how hard it was to move on, how Steve had to face the inevitable. Steve refused to entertain the thought. "He's going to get better and that's that."

"Steve, you don't have any evidence of that. It's been nearly a week. I know it's difficult, but if it were you, would you want him to watch you slowly waste away like this?"

He nearly laughed. Sam didn't know him as a kid, so he didn't realize that there situations _had_ been reversed. "Do you know how many times I nearly died as a kid? Do you think he just threw up his hands and left? He stuck with me and I always got better. He will too."

Sam sighed quietly and looked at Natasha. She said, "You don't know that Steve."

"I do though. I do." Even as he said it, it sounded flimsy and pathetic, like a kid arguing with a parent over something they knew nothing about. He looked to Bucky, laying on the flimsy bedroll someone had managed to procure, eyes like marbles, hair dull, lips chapped and dry, cheeks sharp. He looked dead already and the thought tried to settle in his mind. That his friend was gone. That he needed to accept that. That this was only drawing out the suffering for both of them. He couldn't say it to Sam and Natasha. So he kept it to himself, some of him still desperately not allowing it to be true.

On day nine, with his own injuries healed enough, he left for a run with Sam. It was a small thing, a small morsel of normalcy in his life and maybe it was just as much for Sam's sake as it was for his own. They took new routes now, away from the wreckage of the helicarriers being cleared. Away from dead bodies being pulled from beneath rubble and steel. Some place quieter. Sam always asked how he was and Steve always told him the same thing. He was fine. Never mind the near-corpse of his friend. Never mind that SHIELD would only be willing to play this game with Steve for so long. Never mind the complete mess of his life. It was going to all snap like a bundle of straw soon, but never mind it for now.

On day ten when he came back from the run and a shower, there were a few more people than usual in the room with the monitors. Natasha was there. His neighbor, who he'd since learned was really named Sharon, was present as well. The handful of heavily armed guards were a bit difficult to miss. What would they be doing here except to provide some kind of force? And what was that force for? Who needed that to keep them in check? His throat felt tight as it struck him what they might make him agree to. SHIELD was done letting Bucky languish here, whether Steve was ready or not. His eyes flicked from them to the windows of the cell because what if they'd just euthanized him while Steve was gone and-

Bucky was awake. Bucky was awake he was awake and alive and there Steve could see it in his eyes, he was there, someone, alive, in the cell. Steve found himself pressed against the glass, like he could move through it if he tried hard enough and somewhere in his jumbled thoughts he knew he could use the door but just the sight of Bucky alive and awake, he had to take it in while he could. Like if he went through the door Bucky would be gone again by the time he came out the other side.

He was sitting in the corner of his cell like a bored animal in a shitty zoo, rocking a little from side to side. He glanced at the beds every once and awhile but never went back to them, keeping to the wall opposite the door. Occasionally he touched something with his right hand-the floor, the wall, his face, his hair. "When did this happen?" Steve asked without taking his eyes away.

"About an hour ago. Here," Sharon said, waving him over to a terminal. Steve hesitantly looked her way, then back at Bucky. He had to quit being so foolish. Bucky would still be there, even if he spared a minute to look at something else. She played the surveillance footage of the cell. On the feed, Bucky suddenly pushed himself up to a sitting position and looked around slow and wary. He blinked at the overhead lights. Bunched the blanket in his hand over and over. Looked under it like he might find something there. Then he bit it and let it go nearly immediately. "We gave him a minute to adjust before trying to speak with him. But he never responded verbally to any of our attempts." She skipped ahead a little and Steve almost asked her not to. "This is just after we spoke to him over the PA."

On the screen, Bucky at first sat placidly, petting the blanket like a dog with his right hand. Then someone, Steve wasn't sure who, could be heard saying, "Sergeant Barnes, can you hear me?"

Bucky's eyes nearly bugged out of his head and he looked around the room. The voice spoke again, trying to ask Bucky if he knew where he was, if he knew _who_ he was. Bucky never answered, but he crawled across the floor to the other bed. He resumed sitting, eyes wandering over the room. "We made a few more attempts to communicate, to figure out what he remembers, to try to tell him where he was, but he never responded," Sharon continued. "So we put some food in the room and well..."

Again she skipped ahead, the image instantly jumping. He watched closely. A voice on the tape warned Bucky that they were going to slide a tray of food in the room for him. That didn't stop him from scrambling to the other side of the room when said tray was pushed under the door to the middle of the cell. He stared at it wildly, a hand sinking into his hair and taking a handful of strands before letting go. Steve couldn't help the mixture of confusion and concern that came across his face. Why would he be so afraid of food? "Has he said anything?" Steve asked, watching the feed a little longer. Soon, Bucky pushed himself into the corner and stared at the tray, rocking back and forth. Like he still was now.

"No. Nothing." Sharon closed the video and took a step back.

"Has anyone gone in there to speak with him face to face?" Steve asked.

"We thought it best if you were present for any further interactions."

Steve watched Bucky some more. Nothing had really changed. "Why is he doing that? That rocking?" He'd never seen him do anything like that before, and something about seeing it now put him on edge.

"It's something people might do to soothe themselves in stressful situations," Sam told him. "I'd say this qualifies as stressful but hey. I'm just a counselor."

"Could that be why he won't he eat?" Steve asked. He could understand him refusing to talk. Maybe HYDRA instructed him never to speak in the event of capture. But he _had_ to be hungry.

"Maybe he doesn't like what's on the menu," Sam said. Nearly everyone in the room turned to stare at him and he shrugged. "Picky eaters, man."

Steve laughed in spite of it all and it made Sam smile too. So maybe Bucky had some hang-ups about food. They'd get past it. What mattered was that he was awake, alive, _here._ "I'll go talk to him," Steve said. Then his eyes hardened a little as he moved past the armed guards in the room. "Don't even think about coming in there." The last thing Bucky needed was to feel threatened more than he probably already did by waking up in a cell. He didn't need to be forced into things at gun point. Steve knew he could help Bucky, just like he knew he'd recover. He wouldn't let someone else jeopardize that.

"Steve," Natasha called and he hesitated at the first door. "Be careful. He just-" She shook her head, eyes on Bucky as he rocked fretfully. "Something isn't right."

"A lot isn't right," Steve answered because it wasn't. It wasn't right that Bucky had been treated so horribly for decades and no one knew. It wasn't right that he was trapped in a cell again by people who were supposed to be _helping_ him. None of it was right. It was as far from right as it could be. But he'd fix it. He owed Bucky that much.

Steve opened the door. Instantly, Bucky stopped moving and stared through strands of dark hair as Steve entered the room. "Bucky. Hey, it's me, it's Steve," he said, almost like he was catching up to him on the street or something. It startled him, how such a familiar tone of voice came back to him in spite of the unusual setting. Bucky's eyes flew even wider once Steve started talking and Bucky shook a little. Some sick feeling settled in Steve's stomach and he thought about Natasha, the concerned expression on her face, _something isn't right._ "Bucky. Do you remember me?" He took another step towards his friend.

Bucky curled tighter into himself, drawing up his knees and burying his face in them. He covered his head with his arms.

Steve froze. It was a weird response but hell if he was in any place to expect Bucky to react normally right now. "Hey. It's okay. It's just me. Do you remember me?"

Bucky didn't look up.

Steve crouched down next to the food and Bucky apparently got bored or stressed enough to start rocking again, still curled up. "Okay. It's okay if you don't remember me. But are you hungry? You have to be hungry. Is this food okay? You want something different? Anything you want, I can get it. Sky's the limit. No more potatoes all the time, you know? They still make mallo cups, I know you like those. But um, oh Three Musketeers are different now, just so you know. It's just the chocolate one, no strawberry or vanilla anymore. Or oranges, oranges are everywhere now. I can get them at the gas station, can you believe that?"

Bucky finally glanced at him, but his eyes never lost their bewildered edge. He still didn't respond.

"It's okay. Hey, it's okay. Look." The tray of food didn't contain much. A small bowl of broth and a packet of crackers. The broth wasn't warm anymore so he opened the crackers. He held the pack out to Bucky. "It's yours, you can have it. Or we can split it if you don't think you can eat all this. It's okay." Or maybe he was afraid it was poisoned. If Steve ate some of it, then maybe he'd trust that it wasn't.

Bucky's eyes moved from Steve's face to his outstretched hand with the crackers. But he didn't move. Steve wasn't sure what else to do but keep talking and hope Bucky would listen to him. "Maybe you don't want crackers." He picked up the small bowl of broth and held it out. "You want that instead? It's just broth. Nothing else in it." He remembered suddenly the other people who could hear this conversation and he took a breath. "Maybe you're...Maybe you don't trust their food? You know where we are, right? With SHIELD? I promise they aren't going to hurt you, no one's going to hurt you. Look, I'll eat it too. Show you it's safe to eat." He picked the crackers back up and snapped one in half.

Bucky stopped rocking when Steve held the piece of the cracker out to him and ate the other half himself. Steve felt his heart leap into his throat when Bucky finally crept forward on hands and knees, clearly uncertain but unable to deny his interest. Hand shaking-from fear or hunger or both, Steve didn't know-he reached slowly for it. His fingers brushed it, then he snatched it so fast Steve could hardly track the motion. Bucky was back against the wall in an instant, clutching the cracker to his chest in a tight fist and Steve could hardly stand the sight of him, so terrified of everything. What had HYDRA done to him? He shook his head, unwilling to lose himself in dark thoughts right now. He had to stay focused on getting to Bucky. "Go on. You can eat it. It's okay." He made an example, taking another cracker and splitting it in half to eat.

Bucky never took his eyes off Steve. He shoved the cracker in his mouth, and swallowed without chewing. He coughed, tore at his throat with his fingers. Steve was on his feet in a flash. Bucky choked and gagged, trying to shove a finger down his throat after scratching from the outside failed. Steve closed the distance between them and Bucky shoved himself as far into the corner as he could go. Steve tried to grab him and Bucky thrashed and squirmed. It clearly made breathing more difficult and he tried to gasp but the choking continued. Finally Steve hit him between the shoulder blades and he coughed. The cracker came out soon after and Steve backed off as Bucky spat it onto the floor. "Are you okay?"

Bucky took shallow breaths, scrubbed at his teary eyes, fixed his gaze on the tray on the floor. After several more minutes of waiting, the wet gob by his feet caught his attention. He kicked it away, striking the tray in the process. He slapped at the bowl, upending it and spilling the broth out onto the tray.

"Bucky stop," Steve tried but nothing he said seemed to get through. He hesitated to grab him again, worried about how those armed guards would react if they got in a fight. "Bucky, come on, what's the matter?" The room went quieter once Bucky had thoroughly destroyed everything that had been on the tray, the only sound his panting breaths. Then he pushed himself back against the door, staring at the mess as he resumed rocking from side to side.

What was he supposed to do? Where did he start if Bucky wouldn't even listen to him? This wasn't like the helicarrier or the bridge. Maybe Bucky hadn't said much then, but at least he spoke and plainly registered his words. Did he now? "Bucky," he said again, moving closer to his friend. Bucky tested the difference between the door and the wall and seemed utterly perplexed about it. "Bucky, can you hear me?" Maybe the thing that was supposed to erase his memories somehow messed up his hearing. Maybe that was all it was. They could get past that. The serum might heal him yet, and even if it didn't, they could work it out. "Bucky?" He put a hand on Bucky's shoulder this time and Bucky touched it. Steve expected him to yank him close and bust his nose open or something, but he just brushed Steve's hand away from him.

Steve inhaled through his nose, slowly moving beside Bucky instead. It didn't seem to bother him so Steve stayed put. "Hey. Bucky? What's going on?"

Bucky flicked his eyes at Steve but they seemed to just pass over his face, disinterested, before returning to the door.

"You want out of here?"

There was no answer, just fingers tracing over reinforced steel.

"Bucky, I can get you out of here, but you have to show me you're listening. Tell me you aren't going to hurt anyone." _Or tell me anything at all, please, just talk to me._

This time there was a huff of air, a bit like a sigh, and Bucky rested his head against the metal. But still he wouldn't answer.

"Come on. You don't have to say much. Just a yes or a no. Understand?"

Without warning, Bucky pushed himself away from the door and moved back to the bed. It was the one he must've woken up in, and he pulled the blankets over himself, disappearing completely. Steve watched, at a loss. He'd been so excited just to see Bucky awake. And now he was back to being crushed again, going completely ignored. He glanced back at the glass, but even his enhanced eyesight couldn't see the people on the other side. What would they do if Steve couldn't get Bucky to talk?

The thought had him trying one more time. He moved to the edge of the bed, squatted beside Bucky, and before he could even open his mouth to speak, Bucky lunged at him and screamed. Steve was on his back, taken by surprise, but Bucky was still weak and unaccustomed to using his muscles, so it wasn't a hard fight. "Stop it, now!" Steve demanded but Bucky screamed in his face and spat at him _spat at him._ He bit and scratched and pulled at whatever was within arms' reach. This was not the measured and poised movements of an expert assassin. It was more like the frantic thrashing of a wild animal. Steve tried to wrestle him back without hurting him and it wasn't hard. "Buck come on! This is getting out of hand! They're not going to let you leave here if you're acting like this!" Steve had him pinned at the wrists and the motors in the left arm whirred every time Bucky tried to jerk it away. He spat at Steve again and his bare feet slammed against the hard floor again and again like he was trying to motor himself out of Steve's hold. So Steve let him go and he gathered up his blanket and pillow and hugged them to his chest, staring at Steve from his bed.

Again, Steve could only watch because words seemed to go nowhere. He tried what little Russian he knew-a simple question of _how are you?_ But still Bucky only looked at him warily and never even seemed like he was processing the words. _Something's not right,_ Natasha had said and Steve hadn't wanted to see it. Now he couldn't ignore it.

The machine was meant to erase certain memories. And the people who'd last used it on Bucky went overboard, so it erased more than it should. It didn't stop at memories of who Bucky had been before HYDRA tried to change him. Like a tidal wave clearing out the coast, the electric current took everything with it and now Bucky was left with nothing. Less than nothing.

Steve sat back with a heavy thud and stared at Bucky as the realization struck him. He couldn't get through to his friend because his friend wasn't there to get to anymore. Nobody was.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I am no doctor. Take everything with salt, however much you need, it's comic book science, comic book doctors, comic book patients. Just enjoy the sadness :)))

When he left the cell and no one said anything to try to stop him, he was kind of grateful. He went without a word and thought briefly that maybe he should eat something. But then he remembered Bucky choking on a cracker because he didn't even understand that you had to chew your food and he lost his appetite altogether. He found his way to the river instead, staring at the water and trying to think of nothing. It was what Bruce did. That meditation stuff. He said the goal wasn't exactly to think of _nothing_ but to ground yourself completely in the present, to be mindful of your surroundings and your body as they currently were. To give yourself a moment away from the regrets of the past and the concerns of the future.

He wasn't well versed in that so it didn't really work. Instead his eyes followed the flow of the water to where twisted metal jutted out towards the sky, like it was clawing desperately for a breath. About two weeks ago those things had been in the air, ready to end the lives of millions. It was two weeks ago he last spoke to Bucky with a chance of bringing him home. And with the way his eyes flew wide at Steve's surrender, he thought maybe Bucky had remembered. That he'd be okay, if Steve could just talk to him again.

Now he couldn't be so sure. Part of him wanted to believe there were other explanations for Bucky's behavior. Conditioning. An extreme response to capture or trauma. But it was too inconsistent. He'd been receptive of the food after some cajoling. He hadn't attacked Steve until he'd been in the room for some time. The way he fought hadn't been at all like before, and Steve should know that well enough. Then there was that chair, that god awful machine. They said he'd never wake up from what it did to him. And there he was, awake and alert. Even if he was confused, he'd defied their predictions. That meant he could do it again, right? Surely he'd recover further from whatever was wrong with him now?

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, staring at the water when someone finally found him. When his name was called he realized that somewhere during all his thinking, the sun had shifted in the sky, casting longer shadows on the ground. What was he doing here, losing himself in his mind at a time like this? "Steve." It was Sam. Out of everybody that could've come looking for him, he guessed that was best. Sam had good interpersonal skills. Knew how to handle people when they were upset. But most of all, he knew the pain of watching somebody you loved die. Knew the all consuming guilt of being the one to live when you'd do anything to be the one who'd died instead. "Hey man. What's going on?"

He appreciated that Sam didn't ask stuff like _are you okay_? It was obvious he wasn't, and Sam wouldn't waste their time with asking. "I had him, Sam. He was right there. I looked him in the eye and he knew me. And now..." He didn't finish, just set his lips in a thin line, staring out at the water. The sound of construction drifted down to them, noisy and erratic.

"He did more than any of us thought he would. Except you." Sam sat beside him in the grass, crossing his legs. "You were the only one stubborn enough to think he'd even wake up, let alone move around and do anything."

He didn't know if that was completely true or not. A person who _looked_ like Bucky had woken up. He'd seen nothing of his friend there this time. No spark of recognition behind otherwise dazed and startled blue eyes. But maybe. If he just held on longer, maybe Bucky would remember again. Just like he'd managed to wake up, maybe he'd manage to heal well enough to get back the memories of who he was.

Regardless of any of that, one thing was clear to Steve-Bucky didn't deserve to be in a prison. What happened to him for decades was the crime. Could he really be treated like a villain when all the wrongs he committed were done under such extreme duress? "I have to get him out of there, Sam. I can't stand it. He won't get better in there."

Sam looked down first before glancing back out at the river. It was plain he was figuring out how to word something he knew Steve wouldn't want to hear.

"Don't tell me he won't get better. You already did once and you were wrong. Gonna bet on a losing horse twice?" He crooked his lips into a grin, even if he didn't really feel it. 'Fake it til you make it' was a phrase Clint taught him. He didn't know if it worked for things like this but it had to be worth a shot.

Sam nodded slowly. "I don't know what I think. You guys clearly enjoy defying odds, especially the medical ones. But you have to try to be realistic. For your own sake. A little hope doesn't hurt. But ignoring reality isn't any good for you either."

"The least they could let me do for him is try." SHIELD owed Bucky that much. _Steve_ owed him that much. He'd been just as blind. Just as oblivious. His gut had told him to tread carefully with SHIELD after finding HYDRA weapons on that helicarrier. But he'd just been so damn eager for a place to fit, somewhere to be useful. Every time he trusted in some higher authority to do the right thing, they let him down. He refused to make that mistake again.

"Steve..." Sam started but then he shook his head, as if to tell himself to not bother with whatever he was about to say. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his thoughts before opening them again. "Look. I'm just some dude to them, so they didn't really let me hang around when you left."

Steve felt his lips twitch with a slight pang of guilt. He'd just dashed out without really thinking about anyone else. The only reason Sam had been allowed down there was because of the weight Steve carried in the organization, so of course they'd kick him out. "Sorry."

"No, it's not about that. Natasha was able to hang around. They, uh, wanted to run some-"

Steve couldn't help the angry sigh that came out of him as he sat back and rolled his eyes skyward. "Of course they wanted to." His mind was jumping to all the worst conclusions. Whatever SHIELD might want with Bucky, there's no way it'd be for anything good.

"It makes sense, Steve," Sam said, putting a little force in his voice to get a hold of the conversation. It was probably for the best. "He's hurt. You take people to the doctor when they're injured, right? You can at least agree with them on that?"

Steve's eyes settled back on the river. Of course it made sense. He just couldn't help but think of the way the world should be instead of the way it was. Bucky _shouldn't_ be in a jail cell needing any kind of medical attention. But that was the reality of it and he had to accept it. "Was he-I mean, how did he take that, now that he's awake?" Before, it was just a matter of hauling him to clean rooms on a stretcher. Bucky hadn't exactly been putting up any fights. But now he could, if he wanted and-

Christ. What if he'd been afraid and Steve had just left him there to go through it alone?

"They sedated him. As a precaution. I think he was asleep or halfway there, from the sound of it."

Steve nodded slowly and took a breath. That was a sensible thing to do. There was no way Bucky would understand what they wanted right now. And he was too strong to be pacified by other means. It was the best option for everyone. "I shouldn't have left like that."

"You're under a shitload of stress. It was probably better if you sat that part out," Sam said like it was obvious.

"Better for who?"

"For you. And newsflash, Captain America, even you have to take care of yourself before you can take care of anyone else."

Steve snorted and let his head drop into his hand so he could rub at his eyes. "Okay. How is he then?" he asked, trying to steamroll past any potential tangents about his own personal well-being. He didn't want to think about it right now when there was so much wrong with Bucky. Everyone and their supervisor would tell him to think about himself first but then that left no one to give a shit about the person who needed that the most right now.

Sam shrugged but it was not with any kind of carelessness. "He's healthyish. A little malnourished but all the vitals are working fine." He flicked his fingers over the blades of grass beside his right knee. "They're saying...They think he's kind of like a blank slate. No history, no memories, no language, no social awareness. It's like being reborn or something, from the sound of it. If that's true, then that means he barely understands anything going on around him. So I mean you're kind of right-they aren't doing him any favors keeping him in that kind of environment."

Steve clenched his jaw and didn't argue with anything Sam said. Bucky hadn't even grasped that you needed to chew your food before swallowing it. How could Steve pretend he was anywhere near normal right now? And they were completely without a way to communicate with him. He remembered the shocked expression Bucky had given him when he spoke for the first time. Because, even though it'd only been a couple hours that he'd stewed in the cell with any kind of awareness, he'd never seen another person before, if the current theory was to be believed. What did Bucky think of himself? How could Steve get through to him if he couldn't talk to him?

Sam had watched him carefully while Steve mulled over the information before continuing. "Having said all that, you've got to face certain facts here. If you did somehow get them to let Bucky go home with you, it's not gonna be like old times. It's not even gonna be like having a roommate with some issues. It's gonna be like having a two hundred pound kid with super strength and a metal arm. And kids throw tantrums, man. People who haven't developed coping skills, that's all they can do to deal with their emotions. And you can imagine the kind of frustration that's going to come with not being able to communicate with anyone, right? If he can still learn English, it might not ever be enough to be fluent. So he might not ever be able to convey to you what he's thinking or what he wants. You might never be able to make him understand what you're trying to say to him. This is just a fraction of it, Steve. Be real with yourself. How much of that do you think you can handle facing?"

He thought about it. Bucky was back at square one, and that was a fact. That didn't mean he had to stay there. Steve wasn't delusional enough to think it'd be a walk in the park, even if everyone around him seemed to think that's how he was going to see it. It'd be draining and rough and maybe an almost unbearable weight sometimes. But he thought of endless vigils at his bed side and the way Bucky never let fear or sadness so much as creep into his voice while he talked Steve back from the brink of death. And how he let it roll off his shoulders when Steve was well enough again to ask if he was okay. Steve hadn't nearly begun to pay Bucky back.

With that in mind, he answered Sam as he stood up, "All of it."

* * *

"They want to talk long-term plans with you," Natasha informed him in her usual toneless voice as he entered the lobby. Nothing to let slip how she felt about this. Nothing to influence him. Just the plain facts. His guess was that she'd been waiting there since Sam left to find him. "They're sure they'll be running everything by you, whether they like it or not. I may or may not have made that clear to them in so many words."

"Good," Steve said. "Means I don't have to waste my breath."

She cocked her head, shaking it just a little. "There was some initial resistance to the idea of including you. Some suggested you were too close."

"I don't see why that would be a bad thing in a situation like this. Someone needs to remember to treat him like a human being."

She considered his answer but didn't comment on it. "It was agreed that the amount of effort required to keep you away wouldn't be worth it, what with all the other fallout SHIELD still has to deal with."

He followed her to the elevator bay. The facility hadn't suffered so much as a chip in the soft white paint on the walls when the Triskelion fell. It was built to be strong, and holding through the collapse of a skyscraper a block away had proven that it was. "What do you know about the legal situation? His rights, my rights, that kind of thing."

She shrugged as the doors opened and they stepped inside. "SHIELD is scrambling to figure out who to hand all their projects and cases off to. And he's a very unique one, to make it more complicated. Probably going to be a bit of a grey area. It's likely they'll have some kind of review of his behavior to decide who he is. If they think he's competent enough, there'll be a trial."

Steve spared her his immediate reaction, which was to snap out a response about trusting Bucky's future to people who missed out on the whole HYDRA thing to begin with. Now given everything else that's happened to him besides the initial seventy years of captivity and violence, it seemed unreasonable to expect him to stand a trial. God help whoever thought he could, because Steve would have more than words to share with them. "But he's clearly not. And that means...?"

"That means we're in territory with no known legal precedent. We're in an area of _biology_ with no known precedent."

"So we have wiggle room?" he asked, offering up another phrase picked up from Clint.

It made Natasha smirk. A little. "We have wiggle room."

"I want him out of here as soon as possible," he said, cutting straight to the point. "If what Sam told me is true, then he needs rehabilitation. I don't exactly trust that SHIELD's idea of relearning your humanity will come without the lesson of relearning your expertise with a gun, too."

Natasha said nothing. Maybe he hadn't thought how close to home that statement might hit her and he looked down at his feet as they stepped off the elevator. As he opened his mouth to apologize to her, she cut him off, "Keep walking, Rogers."

So he wasn't the only one who got flustered with others trying to take his well-being into consideration. He changed the subject because it's what he would've wanted if their positions were reversed. He wouldn't forget about it. But she'd made it plain this wasn't the time to talk it out, so he accepted that. "What can you tell me about our main players here?" He wasn't familiar with anyone that had been present since Fury and Hill moved on. Sharon he'd known, but not really. He'd only just recently learned her actual name, so he wasn't about to trust that anything he'd picked up about her when he thought she was his neighbor was true.

"The security guards will treat it like the job that it is for them. Professional, straightforward, nothing above and beyond the call of duty. Which for them is just standing around waiting for problems to happen so they can kick them in the face. You should get along swell." Steve scoffed at her but of course she didn't miss a beat. "Doctors Michael Kirkland and Sarah Diedrich...well, remember how I said we're in an area with no known precedent?" He nodded. "That's how they see it, too. And they see the potential for grants and the framework of groundbreaking studies on enhanced persons. They're going to be your biggest obstacles. You see Bucky. They see the subject their names could be attached to in the annals of prestigious journals."

He clenched his jaw at the thought of Bucky being reduced to just another experiment, more time spent being viewed as some thing instead of a person. "Any chance of getting them away from him?"

"Zero," she said. "They like where they're at and they're good at their jobs. Regardless of what they think of him as a person, they are now his only chance for any kind of recovery given the circumstances. He _'s_ going to need them, Steve. Do your best to cooperate." Natasha lowered her voice the closer they got to the cell at the end of the block. "Sharon's the last one assigned to his case. She's not exactly the decision maker here, but the one reporting directly to him. She'll be collecting the relevant information to pass on to her superior, who will then be the one to decide whether Barnes is to go to trial or...something else." She glanced up at him as they stopped outside the door. "Sharon is your best bet at getting Bucky out of here without committing a serious crime in the process."

"How's she see this situation?"

Natasha shrugged. "Talk to her and find out."

He gave a curt nod, both to signal his understanding and to give the go-ahead to unlock the door. Natasha stayed outside. Maybe she wanted him to deal with this on his own. Maybe she'd be unable to keep any personal objections to herself. Anyone who claimed to have a bead on Natasha Romanoff was a bald-faced liar, so he didn't take too much time to speculate himself.   
  
All eyes were on him as he entered the room, save the one pair he looked for immediately. On the other side of the glass, Bucky was again curled up and pressed back into the corner farthest from the door. His arms were held behind him, and he knew they were cuffed by the position they were in, even if he couldn't see. "Is that really necessary?" He turned from the glass to look back at the others present and suddenly none of them wanted to look at him anymore.

The doctor who looked to be in his late thirties answered, and not without a little condescension, like he was expecting this reaction. "He wouldn't stop trying to tear the bandage off of his arm. Those are the only restraints that can hold him."

Steve looked back and saw the gauzy tape and cotton ball where they'd taken blood. Was it that important that a bandage for such a tiny wound stay put, especially on someone with a rapid healing factor and enhanced immune system working in their favor? 

"Captain Rogers," Sharon said, breaking the tense silence. "We have a dossier prepared for you to bring you up to speed on Sergeant Barnes' medical condition." She called Bucky with his rank still attached. That had to be a good sign. Probably. She reached over one of the computer monitors to get to the folder on the desk.

He took it with a nod. "Thank you." He flipped through it. Some of the pages were indecipherable charts of numbers and long words he'd never heard before. Stuff about his brain wave patterns. Neurochemistry. Blood test results. He found the parts of the report that were obviously prepared for laymen like himself. How long had they been working on this? Sam had already mentioned some of this. The malnutrition. Which of course meant a weaker immune system. It apparently slowed the healing process, too. A meal plan was outlined to get Bucky back to eating normally. Another itinerary was made for things simply labeled 'sessions' with numbers attached. A page further in the report summarized tentative plans for a series of hour long blocks three times a day designed for testing his cognitive abilities and his propensity for reacquiring language. Steve looked up abruptly when he saw that part. "You think he could learn how to speak again?"

The older of the two doctors, Diedrich, stepped in to answer. "We can't be sure without trying but enhanced individuals aren't usually subject to the same biological limitations as the rest of us. Normally a person who doesn't acquire a language during childhood will never be able to do so later in life with any sort of significant competence. However, this situation is even abnormal in the context of such already unusual cases. The brain damage he's suffered is unique and unheard of until now, and the addition of the serum only makes things that much more uncertain. The only way for us to know what he's going to be capable of relearning is to attempt to test and teach him."

Steve looked down at the page and took a stabilizing breath. He told himself not to get his hopes too high. "He's okay though. Physically speaking?"

Kirkland fielded that one. "Doesn't seem to be in any kind of pain, but obviously I can only go by his behavior and his physical condition. Nothing in the numbers or scans indicates any cause for alarm."

"How, uh, is his behavior?" Steve asked, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. It seemed an awkward thing to ask, really. But what else could he do? It wasn't like he could stroll in there and ask Bucky how his day was.

Kirkland tipped his head from side to side in a thoughtful gesture. "Well, we had to sedate him, just to be safe. He's been awake for about an hour or so now, mostly quiet, probably groggy."

"Can I talk to him?" He looked back to Sharon for the answer to that.

She nodded, waving to the door before heading back to the console to unlock it.

"Oh, if you could take this?" Diedrich said. Steve glanced back at her and found her holding the key to the restraints and an opaque plastic bottle. It looked like the one Sam carried with him when he ran. When Steve took the bottle, he noticed the broken zipper on the pouch for holding phones or music players and knew that it _was_ Sam's. He told himself to get another. As a thanks. Possibly as a replacement, given the way Bucky had destroyed everything on the last tray of food he'd gotten. "It's just some juice, but I'd like him to associate you with positive stimulus whenever possible. It could be helpful, in the future."

He considered what Diedrich said and he asked, "Why? That sounds like conditioning. Isn't that what HYDRA did to him?"

She took a breath. Like her coworker, agitated to have to explain this to him. "All of us-except you-are going to be doing things that, well, he plain just won't like. No one likes going to the doctor, or taking tests, or being given repetitive, possibly boring tasks. So, it could be useful if he has a relationship that's purely social with no strings attached to work or excess stress."

Steve rolled the bottle between his palms while he thought about it. Part of it seemed sensible. How would he feel if everyone he talked to was coming at him with needles? How would he feel if he had no one to go to about how he felt? No one to just relax with? The other part of him couldn't help but think of how this seemed like he was just bribing Bucky into liking him. Who wouldn't like the guy that always brought him treats and didn't make him do any work compared to the alternatives? He looked back at the door before opening it. Natasha told him to cooperate, if he could. Maybe eventually Bucky would be well enough to explain things to, so Steve could tell him their friendship wasn't something a pair of doctors had engineered.  
  
Or maybe Bucky would never be well enough to see it that way at all. 

When Steve opened the interior door, Bucky half-heartedly curled further in on himself. He didn't even look up. "Bucky," Steve said. And he felt like an idiot. Who was he talking to? How much could he say? He thought about this morning, when he'd just babbled on and on and that whole time Bucky didn't understand a word of it. What good did it do to talk now?

But then, Steve supposed, how would Bucky ever learn to listen if he didn't get practice hearing things? He took a few more steps into the cell, mindful of personal space, and he sat down. "Hey, Bucky. I brought you something to drink."

Bucky didn't move. Steve looked at him, searching for any sign that he might do something. But he just kept laying there, nose practically between his knees, arms twisted behind him. Steve pressed his lips together. He knew from experience it wasn't very comfortable to have your arms pulled behind you like that, locked in those tight, heavy cuffs. He scooted himself closer and he saw Bucky's shoulders tense and he wanted to scream.

He didn't. Instead, he said, "I'm going to take these off now. You don't need them while I'm in here." He figured that must've been the general consensus outside the cell, too, if he'd been given the key. Slowly, he reached for the cuffs, giving Bucky time to squirm away if he was bothered. He didn't do anything but groan a little, as if agitated, so Steve kept his voice steady and calm and said, "Just taking them off, it'll be okay. Just one second."

Steve unlocked them and winced at the sharp noise they made as they snapped out of their locked position. Bucky jerked forward like he could get away from them, so Steve slipped them off quick. There was a noise, something metal hitting the floor as the cuffs fell, and Bucky shoved himself away from Steve. It seemed like a clear indication of Bucky's distaste for him, but he swallowed down the self-pity. This was going to take work. "Is that better?"

Bucky, of course, didn't answer. Instead he pushed himself back against the other corner, drew his knees up, and ripped at the bandage on his right arm with the left.

"Hey, Bucky, you don't want to do that, okay?" He came closer and Bucky froze, staring at him through the strands of hair that had fallen over his face. Steve kept moving towards him, slow, without standing up, until he was within arms' reach. "Here," Steve said and he held out the drink as a distraction from the tape still stuck to his arm. Bucky's eyes flicked to the bottle. Then he started pulling at the bandage again.

So Steve took a breath and moved closer. "Hey," he said again. "Bucky, no, you need that. At least for another few hours." Probably less, really. He set a hand on Bucky's wrist. Steve could practically feel it when he froze, every muscle gone tense. Again he was staring at Steve, and all he could think about were the kinds of dogs and cats he'd seen in alleys as a kid. The ones that noticed someone coming a little too late and didn't know what to do with themselves for a second but lock up and stare before remembering that running was an option.   
  
It wasn't one Bucky had. 

Steve turned Bucky's palm up. He suddenly remembered the couple of weeks where Bucky had the skin of his hand rubbed raw from a rope burn. He remembered a few drawings, because the strip of cloth he'd wrapped around his palm made a hand holding a cigarette look a little more interesting, made it a little more challenging, requiring him to distinguish the different textures of the folds of skin in a hand and the folds of fabric in a cloth. How was that so far away and so close all at once?

He blinked, coming back to this cell and the bottle still in his own tight grip. He put it in Bucky's hand. Bucky's eyes went there immediately before returning to Steve's face. Then he jerked his arm back towards himself once Steve let go, apparently forgetting about the bandage and burying all his focus in the bottle.

Steve smiled even if he felt crushed by this process. And he smiled a little more when Bucky's eyes stayed on his face a little longer. For the first time since this whole mess started, Steve felt like Bucky was actually seeing him as something other than another potential source of distress. He hated that something like that meant progress now. "What do you think?" Steve asked. Bucky didn't answer of course. "There's juice in there, you know. You can drink it."

He couldn't bring himself to believe it was done in response, but there was something almost suspicious about Bucky's timing as he sprayed the juice in Steve's face. Steve stared back, still catching up with what just happened. Bucky studied him for a moment before making a small, satisfied noise, a huff of air _._ "Well," Steve mumbled to himself. He drew his own hand over his face, skin already feeling sticky in some places. "That's really the least I deserve, I guess."

Driving the point home that someone had offered him a drink in the several hours Steve had been absent, Bucky took the bottle up again and took a swig like he'd never had to relearn how to do it. Steve snorted, and shook his head. "Maybe being a smart ass is genetic, huh?" Steve asked. He could practically hear the old Bucky in his head turning the joke back on him, _so there's no cure for you?_ The smile on his face faltered slightly when no verbal reply ever came. He didn't really think Bucky noticed, but selfishly, he let himself half-believe that it was the reason Bucky offered the bottle back to him.


End file.
